Streetlights
by OrangeLaces
Summary: Maybe time started creeping up on me even further back... back at that stupid grocery store on the corner of Parks Street.


**Disclaimer: No, I do not own the Outsiders (what a surprise, huh?)**

**Please read and leave a review. They're very much appreciated. Thank you!**

The grocery store is empty. It's quiet, like a graveyard, like a hospital room when someone just died. The cashier is chewing on a toothpick and staring at me like I'm some hood ready to point a gun at him. I really don't give a shit.

Cause hey, maybe I am.

The shelves are full of magazines. The kind of things people use to waste time, to pass time, to pretend there isn't actually time and it isn't screwing them all. Like time isn't creeping up on them, like a fucking Soc in a red fucking mustang. Or like a fucking fire in a mother fucking church.

Goddamnit. I can feel it.

Maybe time started creeping up on me even further back, back at that stupid grocery store on the corner of Parks Street.

T-Man was what everyone called him. He told me to grab the cash. "That's all you gotta do. No shit. I'll have the gun. So don't fuck this up," he said.

I said ok. I was 10. What kid isn't hands in for a job with the toughest hood on the block? Well, maybe not Ponyboy; but that kids going somewhere else anyway. There are different street signs on his road. Or maybe he just reads them differently. But somehow he's always on the other side of the street. Two-Bit would probably know why. He actually gets shit like that. I think he always walks in the middle.

I was ten years old when the fuzz first put me in hand cuffs. They threw me on the ground and pointed a heater at my head. Damn, it hurt. But not just where my hand scraped the sidewalk or where the cop kicked me in the ribs.

"Hands on the concrete! Hands on the concrete!" The fuzz were yelling at me. I remember thinking the sidewalk had a weird-ass glow on it. It was white and yellow. And when I put my hands down, my hands were glowing too.

And then that some mother-fucking bastard of a cop grabbed me from the back of my jacket, and the glow was gone.

T-Man told the cops to go fuck themselves. Nothing ever hurt him. I wanted to be like him.

I was 10. What do you know when you're a fucking ten year old?

But now I'm here again. Or maybe I'm there again. Maybe it's like destiny … or karma, Two-Bit would say. I don't really give a fuck. This is just what I do. Just like Ponyboy draws pictures and lives on clouds and shit. Just like Soda walks around and gets girls just by smiling at them. Just like Johnny never … Johnny never really belonged here. Johnny never deserved this.

And I'm the hood. This is who I am.

And I'm not supposed to hurt. I'm not supposed to feel this. I'm not supposed to care that Johnny's … I'm not supposed to care.

With a yell, I push the shelf of magazines over. The cashier already has his hands up. The ruddy coward hands me the money without me even having to get out the heater.

"You motherfucking coward." I tell him. "You'll hand that shit over without a fight? And it ain't like you got shit to lose anyway. You're a fucking lowlife bastard on the wrong side of Tulsa."

But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he does got shit to lose. Maybe he's got someone like Johnny. Right now, I'm the one that ain't got shit to lose. I ain't got no Johnny.

So I grab the money and run out the door. I can see the fucking cashier already jumping for the phone.

They'll be coming. The fuzz'll be coming. But it's also like time is coming, running after me. Fuck, it's like my life is finally coming. It's like some deep shit that Soda might say and only Two-Bit would understand.

And Johnny. Johnny would understand.

I reach for the pay phone and dial. I don't really mean to call the Curtis's. But I just do. My fingers just do it. It's like the Curtis's are a safe haven or some shit. Like how Steve always goes to their house when his old man kicks him out.

Johnny just sleeps in the lot…. Johnny used to sleep in the lot.

I hear Darry's voice on the line. I'm not some sappy type, but for some reason his voice sounds good cause he always knows what to do. So I listen to him and I'm running down the street. I'm running to the Curtis's house.

The night feels strange. Strange cause the whole world has gone crazy and nobody knows it. They don't know that there are kids that get kicked out of the house by their parents and ones that steal switchblades cause they don't know what else to do. They don't know that there are kids that take care of their kid brothers cause no one else is gonna. They don't know that 16-year-old heroes die in hospitals after getting accused of murder.

I hear sirens.

I am running. But not away from the fuzz cause I don't give a fuck about them. I'm running away from the fact that Johnny's dead and the world's not what it's supposed to be and because nobody knows this. I'm running away from all this and myself. Cause I was only ten.

When I step under the street light it all catches up with me. It's about fucking time anyway. I've been running for too long. I've been running since I was ten.

And I want to stop.

And I'm Dallas Winston. I always get what I want.

I look at cops. They've caught up along with everything else. They think they got me. Fuck them. Nobody's ever got me.

I'm Dallas fucking Winston.

I raise the gun.

Cause I'm Dallas Winston.

And I always get what I want.

***************

I think I'm falling.

There's a weird-ass glow on the pavement. It's yellow and white.

I realize it's the streetlight. It feels kinda warmish, kinda how Johnny said the moon felt warm when you're sleeping in the lot. Warm like an old friend, one you haven't seen in a long time. Maybe not since you were ten.

**Ok people. Please, please review! I'd really appreciate and love all the input I can get. So, whatever you thought of it, liked/disliked, let me know.**


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